


The Teacher

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Also a goat with a rooster for a hat, And then suddenly Regina showed u p, F/M, School Marm Au, rcij
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Rumbelle Christmas in July gift for the absolutely stunning ashadeofpemberley. Her prompts were: "train," "letters," "dust," "pen name"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Teacher

Belle French looked out of the train’s window at the wide valley stretching out as far as her eyes could see. Out in the distance, just on the horizon, there was a distant haze of mountains, and, if she’d consulted the atlas packed away in her trunk, she’d have recognized the names of the mountain range, but her attention had long been mesmerized by the golden, feathered heads of grass gone to seed and the way they swayed like the ocean waves she’d left behind as the train passed by and the rhythmic sound of the wheels on the track as it sped along the tracks.

“Miss? Miss?”  

Belle startled out of her reverie and looked up to see the train’s conductor hovering over her with concern.

“Yes, Mr. Leroy —”

“Just Leroy, Miss,” he told her, sternly.

Belle huffed an embarrassed laugh, shaking her head.  “I’m sorry.”

His grin, half-hidden behind a bushy beard reassured her that he was teasing her. “We’ll be pulling into Storybrooke in about an hour, if you want to get ready,” he said, nodding out of the window. “She’ll be on the left.”

“Is Storybrooke very small then?” she asked, looking up at him with excitement. She’d looked it up when she accepted the job, but, aside from a small black dot on a map and the brief description in her acceptance letter, she could find no real information on the town.

Leroy shrugged as he scratched his neck thoughtfully. “The town proper is small, but there’s ranches for miles ‘round. See you later, sister,” he said as he ambled up the aisle, swaying in time as the train chugged forward.

Belle watched him leave the ladies compartment with amusement, then stood up to take down her satchel from the luggage rack overhead. She didn’t have to do much to get ready, but she did want to look presentable to the people who hired her. After a quick glance in her hand mirror, checking to make sure her hair wasn’t falling down around her ears, she spent some time pinning her wide-brimmed hat in place on top of her curls. The straw boater was a last minute splurge before she left her hometown for the wilds of the American plains, but the sprig of peonies she tucked into the band made her think of her father’s floral shop, which made her think of her father, which made her… not quite sad, but there was a tiny hitch in her breath at the thought that she may never see him again.

Opportunities for women of her status were slim: teacher, shopgirl, or wife. So she chose teacher, completing two years of college in one, working hard until she’d achieved her teacher’s certificate; the offer of Storybrooke’s school coming soon after.

Her father had been unhappy she’d decided to leave instead of settling down to be a wife and mother like every other girl in their tiny port town, but Belle hadn’t found anyone she’d liked well enough to prevent her from setting out on her own and, in the end, had decided she needed to see the world as much as she could.

“Papa,” she told him over their last meal together. “I can’t stay here forever. I’ll be happy,” she added, putting her hand on his. “And you can come visit me at some point. If - if you want.”

“We’ll see, Belle,” he said petulantly and she knew enough to drop the subject. He would never come to terms with her leaving, but she’d promised herself long ago that she would live her own life on her own terms as best as she was able.

The train began to slow down miles before they reached the station and the closer they came to the river, the more lush the land became. She could see houses dotting the wide valley now that they were closer to civilization with large, weathered barns and fences as far as her eye could see. They were a novelty for her. Most farms back home used rock walls to divide their land, but here they were wooden and weathered in the sunlight. The barns were also different, being separate from the houses altogether, which told her that the winters in Storybrooke might not be as harsh as they were in Maine. It cheered her up to know that she might not be housebound for weeks on end during the lonely winter days — providing they weren’t hit by a blizzard.

The train whistle blew its greeting, momentarily startling her as it signaled its approach. Within minutes she would be stepping off the train, a bit dusty and a bit tired, and into her new life. She hurriedly pulled on her gloves, gathered up her things onto her lap and sat, heart in her throat, looking out of the window as her future came speeding towards her. 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

Angus Gold stood away from the small gathering at the train station, wishing with all his might that he’d stayed at his shop, but Bae had looked at him with his large, brown eyes over breakfast that morning and, well, he didn’t so much as ask, but Gold knew his son would be disappointed if he’d missed the performance.

His son was amongst the rest of the school children, standing on a platform and grouped according to age, waiting with Mrs. Nolan, her belly swollen with impending birth, to greet their new teacher. This whole exhibition had been her idea.

“Mr. French will be new to town and far from home,” she told the parents when the idea was proposed. “This will go a long way to making him feel welcome here.”

Gold had no objections to it, giving his permission for Bae to sing along with the rest of the kids and now, three weeks later, he’d found himself waiting with the rest of the parents and a few curious bystanders for Mr. French to arrive.

He shifted where he stood, turning his head when the train’s whistle blew in the distance. The children, each holding a posy for their new teacher, started chatting excitedly to themselves about what he would look like and if he would be a nice as Mrs. Nolan. She, at the moment, was having some trouble getting some of the younger ones to focus when, at long last, the train came to a puffing, wheezing, grinding halt at the platform.

A cloud of steam burst up from the tracks obscuring the view, but he could just make out the steps being kicked into place and the porter holding out his hand to someone standing in the doorway.

Mrs. Nolan cued up the children, beginning a cacophonous and not entirely in tune rendition of Yankee Doodle Dandy with Sheriff Nolan accompanying them with his fiddle and tapping time with a well-worn boot.

Gold stood back, smiling as he watched his son’s enthusiastic warbling, before turning his attention to the questionably small figure stepping off the train.

The first thing he noticed was that Mr. French was most definitely a _Miss_ French and he put his hand to his mouth to quell the laughter at how that would set the biddies chins wagging amongst themselves when they, too, noticed this important fact. Indeed, a few of the more astute people had already twigged onto who Miss French was, or more importantly, who she wasn’t.

She was a tiny thing, no bigger than some of her new pupils and he wondered to himself how she was supposed to keep order among those hellions when she couldn’t even see over the tops of their heads. _She won’t last a year_ , he thought, shaking his head to himself before the last of the steam faded away and he got a better look at the much anticipated Miss French and had his breath taken clean from his lungs.

She was small and light and stunning in a periwinkle blue walking dress over a soft, cream blouse and a mass of chestnut curls spilling out from underneath a hideous straw hat that he wanted to feed to his horse. The phrase, “wee bonny lass” flitted through his head before he shook it off as nonsense.

Miss French may be wee, bonny, and a lass but she was not for the likes of him. But, he mused, he could look.

After a moment’s hesitation, Mrs. Nolan stepped up and greeted her warmly, looking a bit frazzled at the new turn of events, but, since there was nothing else to be done, decided to carry on with the ceremony.

Miss French tried to hide her nervousness behind a bright smile as she chatted with Mrs. Nolan, who then directed her over to the waiting students, standing in a long, uneven row. One by one she greeted each child, graciously taking their posies until she was engulfed in wilting flowers. The poor girl looked exhausted and she hadn’t even made it off the platform yet, but she gave each child a smile, bending down to talk to the tiny ones and shaking the hands of the upperclassmen.  

Mrs. Nolan, then led her down the steps towards the awaiting parents.

“I’m so sorry, but as you can see, I’m slowed down considerably these days,” Mrs. Nolan puffed out when they’d reached the bottom. “You arrived just in time, I can tell you that. When Miss Katherine got married we were scrambling to find another teacher in time for the new year.”

“Think nothing of it,” Miss French said in an accent that made his ears twitch. He’d been to the east coast before, back when he’d made his journey from Scotland, but no one he’d met had spoken like that.  “We should probably get you off your feet,” she added for good measure, but no one took the hint and so Mrs. Nolan and the tired traveler were kept standing in the hot mid-day sun while the townsfolk gawked.

Granny Lucas, that old busybody, was the first to step forward after which parents, kids, and even Pongo, Dr. Hopper’s spotted dog crowded around the new teacher, talking a mile a minute and not letting her get a word in edgewise. All except the dog, who was the best behaved creature out of the lot of them.

Bae sidled up to him, face flushed with excitement and happy that he’d been treated kindly. “What d’you think, Papa?” he asked, eagerly. “She’s pretty ain’t she?”

“ _Isn’t_ she,” he corrected absently, secretly agreeing that yes, Miss French was a pretty sight for his tired, old eyes despite having traveled so far and being exhausted and probably ready to drop. He’d like to have another go at hearing her speak, but those damned inconsiderate idjits wouldn’t stop yammering in her ear. He glanced around and noticed her trunks piled up on the station platform with no sight of a wagon nearby.

The least they could do is have her things sent on ahead of her. The small house set aside for the new school teacher had been freshly painted and aired out and no doubt Mrs. Nolan had also overseen the placement of flowers in the windowsills and on the kitchen table, but he wondered if they had given any thought about how she might have her trunks transported.

"Bae," he said, still looking at the trunks, but keeping Miss French in his peripheral vision. "Go see if the station master will bring Miss French's things around to the cottage. It seems they won’t give her a minute to catch her breath."

Bae ran off leaving a trail of dust in his wake and within minutes, the station's old, gray mule was hitched to the wagon, the trunks piled on and the whole contraption slowly wheeled down the street.

The cottage wasn't far — nothing in this town was — but those trunks were far too heavy for anyone to haul for very long. He may have overstepped, but, taking a last lingering look at Miss French before turning towards his shop, he felt she would appreciate the thought.

He should have stayed and introduced himself. He should have tried to make a better impression on her — for Bae's sake if not his own — but he knew he would meet her sooner rather than later and he preferred to not become yet one more face in the crowd.

* * *

 

Belle had smiled until her cheeks felt like they would fall off and then, when she felt like she would break down in an exhaustive faint, just after sunset someone had taken hold of her elbow and escorted her to the sweetest little cottage she’d ever seen.

“It used to be Mrs. Nolan’s back when she was Miss Blanchard, and then it was Miss Katherine’s before she married and moved away,” the woman explained. “Now it’s yours. No one’s lived in it for weeks of course, but it’s the school marm’s house sure as shootin’. We’ve had it aired out and freshly painted and had the larder stocked with provisions that should tide you over for a few days. My name’s Granny Lucas, you need anything, you come to me and I’ll see you get it, understand?”

Belle nodded her head, as she stared at the room, murmuring a thanks as Granny Lucas slipped out the door with a curt, “You’ll be tired and I won’t keep you.”

She was so enthralled, she didn’t even noticed the other woman had left.

Belle had never really been alone before, had never been in charge of her own life, had never been without watchful eyes to make sure she didn’t come to harm — or mischief — and now she had her own home. Her very own house to do with as she wished. She hadn’t even considered it since the teachers in her small town boarded with a local family and now, here she was at only twenty years old, without a chaperone or authority figure to hold her in check or tell her what to do or how to live her life.

Belle looked around her new home, the realization that she was her own mistress dawned until her exhaustion took over and she burst into raucous laughter, doubled over and clutching her stomach. _She_ was the authority figure, now, and the more she thought about it, the more she howled. _Who_ had put her in charge of students? _What_ were they thinking?

It took her a few minutes to calm down from her laughing fit and when she was able to think straight she wiped the tears from her eyes and took stock of her situation.

Her new home was cozy and snug with a small cooking area on one side and a living area with a large hearth on the other. Whoever had built it had plainly enjoyed nature for there were windows situated on every wall and, once the sun came up, she had no doubt there would be at least one view worth coveting.

It all felt like a dream come true and it wasn’t until she tried to make a pot of tea and realized there was no fire for her to boil water, that the dream bubble popped and she realized that there was no one to send for firewood, nor would she have time to tend to a fire before she dropped on her feet.

It seemed there were some drawbacks to life on her own, but on the whole, she was pleased with her situation, even if it seemed a bit quiet. She knew she would make acquaintances out of some of the smiling faces that surrounded her at the station. They had been friendly, but she couldn’t help but have the suspicion that she’d disappointed them somehow. It couldn’t have been her age, they knew she was fresh out of school when they hired her. Maybe she didn’t look stern enough to them. Well, no matter. Her philosophy for her pupils was to be fair but firm. She was certain she would be able to teach with success. Mostly certain.

Still, there were more people greeting her than she’d expected. She hoped there would be a friend among them — a confidant of sorts, something she lacked at home back east. Granny seemed nice as well as Mrs. Nolan and the sheriff and the children were all darling of course, but she couldn’t immediately pick out who among them would be that one person who would listen to her most secret wishes. Maybe nobody.

At the moment, there wasn’t much for her to do other than get ready for bed, and, as soon as she found her bedroom, she would.

* * *

 

Belle awoke to the sound of a soft knocking and she rubbed her eyes as she looked around the tiny bedroom. Nothing was where it should be. The room was unfamiliar and bare of her personal items including her clock so she had no real idea of what time it was. Just outside she could hear the distant stirrings of a new morning, a rooster’s cry, the screeching of some crows and, if her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her, something going “maa-a-a-a-a-a-a.”

“Just a minute,” she called out, stuffing her arms into her dressing gown and tying it tight around her waist. She spared a second to glance in the looking glass in her room, but figured that anyone who woke her up early in the morning deserved what they got.

The door latch was stiff under her sleepy fingers, but she figured it out at last then threw the door open to find a young, scruffy lad of about twelve years old on her stoop.

“Um, hello?” she said, dismayed that one of her students witnessed her dishevelment. _I am never going to live this down_ , she thought as she tried to comb her fingers through her hair with one hand as she clutched at the collar of her robe with the other. “Can I help you?”

The boy, nearly as tall as she was, smiled up at her. “I’m Bae. I live just down the lane,” he said, pointing with a sun-tanned hand. “I’m here to milk Calpurnia.”

Belle blinked. “I’m - I’m sorry, you’re here to do what to whom?”

“Calpurnia,” Bae said again, his head tilted and eyes squinched up as he looked at her. “Didn’t no one tell you about her?”

“No. What is she?”

Bae shook his head and looked at his scuffed boots.  “Papa said they’d neglect to tell you.”

“Well, I’m all ears now,” she said as patiently as she could. For goodness sake, she hadn’t even had tea yet.

“She’s your goat. We take turns milking her during the summer except it’s mostly me b’cause I live the closest.”

Belle stopped fussing with her hair, dropping her arm to her side with a plop, realizing now what that unidentifiable “maa--a-a-a-a-aing” had been. “I have a goat? Where?”

“Round back,” Bae said, stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his overalls. “Maybe you can come see?”

Belle had already started stuffing her feet into her boots, not even bothering to do up the side buttons, irritation welling up as they flopped around her ankles while she ran around the house. What time was it? How long had she slept? Was there some poor creature outside, udder ready to burst because she was too lazy to go milk it? Why hadn’t anyone mentioned Calpurnia in the first place?

There was a small pathway lined with white stones along the side of the house which was positively overflowing with flowers dotted with low flying buzzing bees. Belle didn’t have time to stop and admire it as Bae disappeared around back through a low gate, which shut with a firm clack.

The back of the cottage was furnished with a sorely neglected vegetable patch now overrun with brown spotted chickens. Off to the side, in a pen were two nut brown goats were greeting Bae with an anxious bleating. To Belle’s utter amusement, there was a green and copper rooster with a long tail, clearly missing a few feathers, perched on the head of one of them, while the other was chewing on something she couldn’t identify.

“Sorry I’m late, Callie,” he said, hopping over the fence with a practiced leap. “Hey, Milo.”

The rooster crowed at the sight of them, ruffling his feathers until he was puffed up twice his size.

“Shush, you,” Bae told it, mildly. It seemed this was an ongoing conversation between the two of them.

“The other one is Milo?” Belle asked, picking her way among the chickens that found her buttons interesting. “Who named them?”

“Class vote two years ago,” Bae said as he brought down a shining bucket from a nail and wiped it out with a clean rag. “There was a kid, but Mr. Hopper took her when she was weaned. Should be another one in about two months.” He then opened a bin and tossed some grain into a small galvanized feeder. “We save this for milking. She likes to eat while you milk her, it’s like a special treat. They eat hay and grass and near about anything else they can get their teeth on.”

He spoke with a cheeky grin, but Belle could tell that it was just good nature and not the fact that he’d caught her in her sleeping attire. He hadn’t even mentioned it.

Belle looked at Calpurnia critically, trying to gauge how far along she was, but having no knowledge of goats whatsoever she had no idea what she was looking for. The goat looked at her with golden, button eyes, placidly chewing on her feed while Bae got down to business.

She leaned over trying to see what he was doing, but Calpurnia shifted her back feet so that there was nothing to look at but the goat’s hairy face and the rooster perched on top who took that moment to crow in her face.

"Shush, you," Bae told it automatically.

“I should get dressed. And maybe make tea,” Belle told Calpurnia. “Have you eaten yet, Bae?” she asked, looking at the top of his curly head.

“Yep. An hour ago, Miss.”

She smiled to herself, lifting a cautious hand to pet Calpurnia while keeping an eye on the rooster’s sharp looking beak. She’d have to write to her father about the goats and chickens She’d always lived in town before and had their milk delivered so this was a small adventure on on its own. She hoped she wouldn’t make too many mistakes. A short, “By the way, you have animals to tend to and I don’t mean our children” would have been much appreciated. She could have studied up on it.

“Well, it seems you're ready for a second breakfast. And, if you bring in some of that firewood for me,” she said, noticing the cord piled neatly by the back door, “you can join me for mine.”

Bae lifted his head up to look at her. “What are we having?”

Belle laughed at him. “I have no idea. But, I saw a loaf of bread before I went to bed last night, I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“Toast sounds great, Miss,” Bae told her, a cheeky grin spreading across his smudged face. “I’m about done here.”

“That’s fast!”

“Nah, she’s only got the two teats and her bag is small. Goes by quick once you get the hang of it. I’ll be back tonight to do her evening milking.”

“You should teach me. I can’t keep having someone come out to milk Calpurnia when I’m capable.”

"Yes, Miss," he said, not paying much attention to her before he popped his head back up again. “If you go look over in those nests you might find some eggs. Go good with toast,” he said with a half grin. “Watch out for Sunny, she's setting."

Belle looked over to where he was pointing and noticed a row of wooden boxes along the back of the pen. “Oh!” She moved over to the gate and, minding Milo who looked very interested in the carrot tops behind her, quickly slipped through. She gathered up four eggs and cradled them in her hand as she picked her way back through the chickens to the front door - the back door being bolted shut.

Bae brought in the pail of milk then went out immediately to fill the crate next to her stove with firewood then sat at the table, kicking his feet against the leg while she learned where everything was in her kitchen.

She got breakfast ready in a jiffy once the stove fire got going and she’d found a cookie tin stuffed full with crumbly shortbread that looked much better than anything she’d made and so she put a few on a plate as a treat after they’d finished their meal.

He chattered on about things going on in town despite the fact that she knew no one yet, but she loved stories so she happily listened while he talked between bites of toast and gulps of fresh milk. Belle, never having had goat’s milk before, gave it a try, making a face at the strangeness of it before taking another sip then another until she’d mostly gotten used to it. It wasn’t bad, just different, which is how this whole day could be described so far.

* * *

 

“And then Morraine kicked him in his… er, his seat and she got sent home for the rest of the week because of it.”

Belle, sat enraptured with chin in her hand as she listened to Bae talk about his friends. The boy hadn’t stopped talking once since she let him in the house. She’d taken the time to change into fresh clothes and when she came out of her room, blouse primly tucked in, boots buttoned up, and hair pinned back, he was still at it. She’d never experienced anything like it before. Back home in her father’s house children were very much seen and not heard, something she’d rebelled against even at a young age. It chaffed her to be told to be quiet, so she let Bae continue as he would, interjecting once in a while to show that she was still listening, but on the whole, just enjoying the way his artless conversation filled her small house with liveliness. There were questions she wanted to ask him, about his home and his family, but he had yet to take a break and she hated to stop the flow. She rather suspected she would be lonely once he went home — wherever that was.

A knock at the door interrupted him halfway through a tale of daring where he and a few of his friends had made a bet to see who could stand on an ant hill the longest and Belle was almost ready to pretend she wasn’t home just so he could finish it except she knew whoever was standing on her front porch could probably hear him just fine due to his well-developed lungs, and, she thought with a pang, he was probably way past due at his own home by now.

She gave him an apologetic smile as she got up, pushing a plate of cookies towards him to entice him to linger on while she dealt with her second round of visitors for the morning. She brushed the creases out of her skirt before opening the door, her smile falling a bit when she saw the stern-faced caller on the other side. The other woman was tall and beautiful and graceful looking with a pompadour of jet black hair piled up under a black silk hat with a swath of netting covering her kohl-lined eyes. Belle also suspected her of painting her lips because they were too red and shiny to be natural. The only women she knew of who painted their face were those of acquired affections and, while it didn’t shock her to meet with a prostitute, she was conscious of the young boy inside the house so she stayed in the doorway, blocking the entrance against any intrusion.

“Miss French?” the woman asked curtly.

“Yes, may I help you?”  Belle forced herself not to shrink back. This was her home now, she had no one to please but herself. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, little good it did. The woman towered over her and Belle felt like a child standing next to her.

The stranger peered around the door jam, catching sight of Bae, now thankfully silent at the table. Or maybe the reason was the empty cookie plate.

She turned her attention back to Belle with a raised eyebrow. “Playing favorites already? I must say that’s not a very encouraging start to your career, Miss French.”

“Bae is having a snack after milking Calpurnia for me,” Belle explained, keeping her voice low and modulated as she’d been taught in school when dealing with wayward pupils. She figured it would work with grown-ups as well. “Who are you?”

The woman smiled again, glittering and fake, but this time with a glint to her eye that made Belle want to bolt.

“Forgive me,” she said, all warmth and sunshine now, which set Belle on edge. “I’m Mayor Mills. Your employer.”

Belle was astonished. She’d never heard of a female mayor before and there were a hundred questions she wanted to ask, but something about Mayor Mills stopped them before they could tumble out. Except for one obvious question.

“Mayor? But _how_ —”

The mayor’s smile grew demure, bowing her head in a show of modesty. “I succeeded my husband after his untimely demise,” she said in a low voice.

“My condolences.”

The woman shrugged, her show of grief over now. “It’s been eight years. What can I say? The townsfolk love me.”

“I… So… Does that mean women can _vote_ in this town?” she asked, eagerly.

The mayor gave a tinkling laugh. “No, of course not.”

Belle frowned, disappointed with the answer. “But we’re allowed to hold office?” she asked, needing clarification.

“Only in special circumstances, Miss French, which, you’ll agree, includes the death of a sitting mayor.”

Belle nodded her head slowly, but every fiber of her being was screaming out in danger and she would have bet her first month’s salary that those special circumstances the mayor had spoken of had been brought about by the mayor herself.

“Well, it was kind of you to come and introduce yourself. I can assure you that—”

Mayor Mills interrupted her, clearly tired of the conversation. “Miss French, I’m not here to introduce myself. I’m here because of the gross falsehood you used in your application. A falsehood that caused us to hire you, sight unseen. I’m not happy and neither are the other parents who trusted me to hire a competent teacher for their little…” Her eyes glanced at Bae once more before landing on Belle’s heated face. “ _Darlings_.”

Belle stared at her for a moment feeling grossly offended. “Just what are you talking about? I haven’t lied. Everything on my application was the truth!”

“Hmm. I’m talking, of course, of the matter of your sex.”

“I _beg_ your—”

“On your application you stated that you were a B. French. A _Mister_ B. French and then you show up and it turns out you’re a Miss Belle.” The mayor pursed her lips in distaste. “The facts are clear, you obviously lied to gain your position.”

“I most certainly did not! My writing was perfectly legible, and if you show your copy of the application, I will point out exactly where you are wrong.”

Mayor Mills scoffed, rolling her eyes at her. “You seem to be under the impression that you’ll be staying. No doubt you thought that once you arrived we’d forget all about your little deception. Well, let _me_ assure _you_ , Miss French, that you’re very wrong about the matter. I will have you out within a week.”

Belle grew so angry during the mayor’s tirade that she’d completely forgotten about Bae sitting at the table, overhearing every word. She was indignant at being rudely accused of lying.

“Madam Mayor, I don’t plan on going anywhere. You signed a contract for one year. A legal, binding contract to employ me and if you think you can just fire me then you’re very wrong about the matter. I will bring down a lawsuit that will make your head spin. And…” she added, taking a stab in the dark. “A private detective. I would like to know who it is who is illegally altering my applications. I’m sure he would have a lot to learn about this town if - if he chose to go digging.

Mayor Mills’ face grew steadily redder by the second as Belle spoke, glaring at her with a seething hatred. Belle didn’t know why the mayor had targeted her, but she refused to be used for whatever political agenda she had.

“School starts on Monday at eight, if you want to join the students. You may, as you obviously need to work on your reading comprehension. Good day.” Belle shut the door firmly in the mayor’s face, leaning against it with her hand over her chest, trying to quell her pounding heart.

“ _Wow_ ,” Bae said, eyes wide in awe. “Never saw anyone stand up to the mayor ‘cept my Papa. Everyone’s scared of her.”

Oh dear, that made everything worse. She passed a shaking hand over her forehead, giving him a wobbly smile. “I think it’s best if you run home now, Bae. Thank you for your company this morning, it helped me from being homesick.” She glanced out the window to see if Mayor Mills was in sight then looked at him, scrunching up her face. “Perhaps you should go another way if there is one.”

“Yes, Miss,” he said. “There’s loads of ways to get to my house.”

“Good. Good,” she said absently. “I, uh, should get to work on my lesson plans.”

“Alright. See you later then!” he said as the back door slammed shut.

Once he was gone, she fell in a heap on the settee and covered her face with her hands. “I’ve made my first enemy,” she told the room, wishing her father was there.

No, not her father. He would just call her back home before she counted to three claiming that she couldn’t take care of herself for more than four days. Belle did not want to go back to her father’s house. She didn’t want to live under his thumb any longer no matter how much she loved him. Now that she’d tasted freedom, she longed to keep it and keep it she would. Determined now, she took a deep breath and sat up, considering her options. First, she would write to her old instructor at the college and get her advice on the matter and second, she would find a lawyer. Just in case.

* * *

 

The trek into town took a lot less time than she remembered, but the threatening clouds overhead made her nervous. The storm was coming in faster than she was used to and she was afraid that she’d misjudged the time it would take to reach the post office before it hit.

She had just reached Main Street when the first drops of rain fell and by the time she passed the boarded up library, it had started to hail. She took cover by the doors, until the wind shifted, pelting her with ice, hard and cold against her face. Holding her arms over her head, she ran for Mr. Gold’s General Store across the street, praying that it was open and that Mr. Gold would let her stay.

Thankfully, the door was unlocked and she rushed in, setting the bell clanging in her haste to get out of the storm.

She was dripping wet and felt like a half-drowned cat more than a grown woman of twenty and she wanted nothing more than to go back to her snug little cottage and crawl under the covers for two weeks.

“Hello?” a rough, accented voice called out from a back room, kept hidden by a heavy curtain.

Belle looked around, kept cozy and warm with a wood stove in the corner, crowded shelves in a row piled with necessities lined the long sides of the shop with barrels of dry goods placed within easy reach near the register and a tall, rolling ladder along the back wall that went from one side to another to reach the overflowing shelves.

The curtain parted and an older handsome man walked out, brightening instantly when he saw her. She was surprised at the look of him, his hair was longer than was fashionable and he didn’t wear the thick mustaches that were so popular amongst the men back home in Maine, which pleased her as she could see his mouth and the way his thin lips spread in a shy smile. His eyes were a soft brown, warm and pleasant, though they were half-hidden underneath a swath of graying hair that parted in the middle and fell along the sides of his face. He was smartly dressed for a small town business owner and used a gold topped cane, which looked pretty but was functional as she noticed a slight limp. She stared until she realized what she was about, and turned away with a blush.

There was a kettle on the stove, steam coming out of the spout in long, billowing wisps. She'd disturbed his tea time it seemed and she nearly walked back out again in her embarrassment, but the surprise and the way Mr. Gold's face brightened when he saw her kept her from walking back out into the downpour.

"Good afternoon," she said quietly. "I hope you don't mind if I come in out of the — out of the storm?" she asked knowing full well that he might very well turn her out if Mayor Mills’ had started spreading rumors about her already.

She looked back the way she’d came. The road was completely flooded and impassable now.

"Not at all, Miss French. I know how these storms can take you by surprise if you're not used to them. Please, take a seat by the stove and dry yourself."

She took herself to the stove, holding out her hands towards the welcome heat. "You know who I am then?"

He smiled. “Of course I do. Don't get too many newcomers to Storybrooke and a new teacher is big news around here. My son speaks highly of you. He told me you stood up to the mayor didn’t back down. Have a seat,” he said again.

His son? _Bae_. But they sounded nothing alike though there was something about the set of their eyes that were similar now that she knew their connection. Perhaps Bae took after his mother. Bae hadn’t mentioned his mother at all though during his long monologue though he’d spoken of his father with affection. Belle could sympathize, being motherless herself.

She smiled. "Bae is a sweet boy, Mr. Gold. He kept me company this morning after milking Calpurnia.”

"Yes, he told me" he said, looking down at her before sitting in the second chair by the stove. “And I bet he talked your ear off to boot.”

She was staring again, the soft trilling of his r’s fascinating her greatly.

“I’m sorry, but may I ask where you’re from?” she blurted out, feeling her face heat up with embarrassment.

His lips quirked at the corners and he shook his head with a small laugh and Belle thought she detected a faint reddening to his cheeks, too, and it made her feel more comfortable to know that he might feel as helpless as she did.

“I’m from Scotland originally. Traveled over about fourteen years ago.” He lifted his eyes upwards in self-deprecation. “Thought I’d lost my accent actually,” he teased.

“Scotland!” she repeated, her lips parted with excitement as she gazed out of the dusty shop window into the deserted street, wondering what that distant country was like. It sounded so exotic. To have traveled so far — over an ocean! — and then cross the great plains of America… It seemed to Belle to be quite an adventure and she longed to learn more. “How wonderful. And, do they all sound like you?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat.

Gold blinked. “How do you mean?”

Belle blushed, feeling foolish now that she’d said anything, but it was too late to take it back now. “I only meant your accent is very distinct. I’ve never heard it before and I only wondered if everyone back in your country sounded like you. That’s all.”

Gold chuckled and looked down at his hands. They looked weathered and calloused and rough, they would snag on the fabric of her sleeve if he touched her, but she wouldn’t mind if he tried. She shook her head, trying to dispel that thought before it could take root.

“They do from my part of that country. There’s those I couldn’t understand aah from zed, tell you the truth. Highlanders, mostly. Very close knit people, Highlanders,” he said, nodding his head to himself.

“I… I’ve never heard of them before,” Belle said, hoping he’d continue.

“Sure you have. They wear the plaid, the kilts.” He moved his hands around his waist by way of explanation.

Her mouth made a small ‘O’ of understanding then, but, never having seen a man in a kilt outside of a book, she had a difficult time picturing it. The most she could do was try to imagine Mr. Gold in her best dress and she giggled as the image floated up in her mind’s eye.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, lips twitching to smile, but just keeping it in check. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just picturing you in my blue silk.”

“You don’t think I’d look fetching in it?” he asked with a smirk,

“I think you’d look better out of it,” she said truthfully, then gasped, feeling her face turn beet red with humiliation. “I… I mean, you would look better in trousers, Mr. Gold. Not that — not that I've noticed your trousers. Or, um, oh dear." She looked away, biting her lip in embarrassment. If she had been just three years younger, she’d have buried her face in her hands and ran out the door in mortification, but now she just wanted to laugh at herself. Maybe it was the way his face flushed, too, and how he looked shyly through that shaggy hair that kept his warm brown eyes from view. The urge to kiss him welled up, surprising her with its sudden force. No one had inspired her to give away her kisses before, but this shy man with his soft smile playing on his lips looked like he might be a good candidate for her first time. Her lips tingled with the anticipation of it and she didn’t know what to do with herself because of it. All she knew is that she wanted to and she didn’t know what was stopping her. Maybe her new found independence was a bad thing. It was making her bold.

"I- I think the rain might have let up," she said, looking out the window for a moment trying to come to grips with herself.

He looked as well, peering up at the clouds. "A bit. You're welcome to borrow my umbrella if you wish," he said with a tight voice.

Belle smiled her thanks, but stayed put inside the cozy shop with this interesting man.

“I’ve heard,” she mused dreamily, looking out at the darkened sky. “That the Pacific Islanders swim naked in the ocean. That the waters around their islands are so warm that they don’t even need the protection of clothes. Doesn’t that sound exciting?“ She glanced at him.

His eyebrows disappeared into the fringe of his hair. “You want to swim naked?”

“No. I just would like that freedom of spirit. I don’t need to — to strip down, but I don’t like being told that I can’t either.” She grinned at him, sheepishly before pressing her hands against her hot cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m not normally like this.”

“Like what?” he asked with a tender smile. “Completely charming?”

“I was going to say forward. My father always told me I talk too much, _read_ too much. Get too many strange ideas in my head,” she said, biting her lip, looking at him with a wary expression.

His head jerked back in thought. “I can’t imagine it’s possible to read too much. Too little, perhaps, but never too much.”

She contemplated him for a moment. “I think you’re the first person who’s ever said that to me,” she said softly.

“That’s a shame.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his lap. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting freedom, Miss French. That’s why many of us are here in the first place.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Of course, society follows us even out here in the lonely plains.”

“Are they?” she asked.

“Are they what?”

“Lonely.”

“They can be,” he said, quietly.

Her heart hurt for him. He was clearly a good man, she could see that plain as day and anyone who could raise Bae to be the sweet, caring boy he was had to be a wonderful father. This was a man she could trust. “I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t like to think of people being lonely.”

“No one likes to be lonely,” he told her with a crooked smile.

“That’s true.” She took a deep breath, held it then let it out slowly. She was about to take a huge leap of faith. “Mr. Gold I believe I’m in need of some help.”

He looked at her with interest. “How so?”

“The mayor came by this morning and made some serious accusations against me. I’m guessing Bae told you?”

He nodded his head.

“Well they’re baseless and I can prove it, but I believe I’m in need of a lawyer. I think she’s going to engage in a smear campaign against me. I don’t know why, I’ve never seen her before in my life. My family has never had anything to do with hers. She’s just... mean.”

“Ah, I think I can enlighten you a bit and it explains a bit of a mystery, too. You see, when our last teacher, Miss Katherine, left, Regina wanted to hire a specific person to fill the empty spot. In short, she wanted to hire her lover.”

Belle’s mouth fell open with a slight gasp. “Mayor Mills can get away with a lot of things other women can’t it seems,” she said, annoyed all over again.

He huffed a laugh, nodding his head. “A lot of people didn’t like that idea as you can imagine. So she was forced to hire out as the saying goes. We were told that the new teacher was a man, which is fine, but then you stepped off the train very much a… a woman.” He cleared his throat huskily. “I believe she purposefully brought you out here under false pretenses, thinking that the town would be upset you weren’t as, uh, as advertised and then she could insert her candidate as she’d intended all along. These are mostly easy going folk, they don’t care if the person who teaches their children is a man or a woman so long as their children learn. Regina’s visit this morning was probably an attempt to scare you out of town. I’m glad you’re made of stronger stuff than that.”

“Regina... _Queen_ ,” she said, thinking about what he told her. “That’s the worst sort of convoluted planning I’ve ever heard of outside of a penny novel. Does she do this sort of thing often?” she asked indignantly.

“Too often in fact, but no one’s bothered to stop her. The status quo is… well, it’s comfortable for a lot of people.”

“Including you?”

“Regina doesn’t try to mess with me any more,” he said with a sharklike look.

Belle sat up and looked at the shelves lining the wall in back of Mr. Gold.

“If I stayed,” she mused. “I’m going to have to fight her every step of the way. That’s why I want a lawyer on my side. My contract is for the school year and I can imagine that once it’s over, it won’t be renewed. It might be better to leave now while I can still find a more permanent position. I don’t like having to move every nine months.”

“That’s a good point.”

“But, I _hate_ being told what to do.” She looked back at him with steely determination. “This is _my_ job. I earned it, and it’s not right for her to run ramshod over people in temper tantrum. I have nine months to teach those students. And I like Bae,” she added. “He’s a sweet boy.”

“He is.” He gave her a half smile. “If you’re still considering a lawyer, then I may be of assistance.”

“You have a law degree? And a license to practice?”

“‘I’m a man of many talents.”

“I’ll bet,” she murmured to herself. “I mean, that’s kind of you to… to offer yourself. Your services.”

“Miss French, if it will make Regina eat crow, it will be entirely my pleasure. It’s about time someone took the time to take her out.”

“I don’t want to take her out. I just want my job.”

“And in a year? What then?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to go back to Maine. There’s nothing waiting for me there except disappointment and my father nagging at me to get married.”

“Do you object to marriage, then?” he asked stiffly.

“Not at all! I just prefer to marry for love, not- not because my father picked him out for me,” she added faintly.

“I see.” Mr. Gold’s eyes flitted to the window quickly before looking at her with a mischievous glint. “How would you feel about reopening the library?”

A library! That was an avenue she hadn’t considered.

“Well, I do love books,” she said sincerely, leaning forward in her eagerness. He copied her inch for inch and soon they were nearly nose to nose. She could feel his breath gusting against her cheek. Her blush was back again as well as the tingling feeling in her lips, the kiss that wanted to be let out.

“I thought so. You look like a book reader to me.”

She giggled, then. “What do book readers look like?”

He stared at her for a moment before whispering, “Beautiful.”

“You must _really_ enjoy reading,” she murmured.

“It’s my second favorite thing to do.”

“And what’s the first thing?”

His hand came up around the back of her head, pulling her closer and resting his forehead against hers, eyes wide and searching before he closed the gap bringing his lips down on hers in a gentle caress. Her gasp of surprise was muffled by his soft lips, but she soon closed her eyes, getting lost in the sensation of his mouth on hers and the curls of heat it invoked in places she would blush to think about in company. He pulled away, whispering, “My favorite thing is kissing the teacher.”


End file.
